


All in a Day's Work

by politely_ironic



Series: Stranger Things Have Happened [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Conversations, Blue Balls, Coming Out, Denial of Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Freckles, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, Jean is stupid, M/M, Mindless Fluff, POV Marco Bott, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Denial, dumb boys, jean has a dog, poor Marco, this is terrible im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politely_ironic/pseuds/politely_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This just in: Marco is super gay. And in the closet. Or at least, he was. More at 11. (Takes place a few weeks after Make it Quick.) Rated M for language/mild sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Beginnings

"Let's do something." Marco says. He's usually the one to get the ball rolling. Jean is splayed out on the couch. It's a little short for him. Probably older than he is, too. Marco stands in front of him, blocking the TV.  
"But it's Sunday. Go worship Jesus or something." Neither of them go to church.  
"Come on, I'll buy you a taco or something."  
"Nngg,"  
"Like three tacos." Marco amends.  
"Sunday, Marco. Sunday." Jean moans, and flops on his belly dramatically. Marco knows he can't resist the pull of free food.  
"You've been bumming around my house for at least a week."  
"So? It's summer. Your dad likes me. He doesn't mind." Marco groans, and sits down in the armchair just left of the couch. He does have a point, Marco thinks. Both of his parents consider Jean a third son, and have gotten used to him hanging around. Subsequently, when he goes back and forth between houses each week, Jean tags along. 

His parents divorced a few years back; it was pretty mutual, and his mom moved out into the apartment, closer to the high school. They're on good terms, which is a relief for Marco and his siblings. Being the youngest, Marco of course took it the hardest, but in retrospect, everyone had seen it coming one way or another. Jean, for his part, didn't make fun of him for crying about it, but never really offered much comfort. He was a standoffish kind of kid, and nothing much has changed.  
"You're thinking too loud." Jean mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes.  
"You stare at the wall and write angsty poetry about it." This gets Jean to sit up.  
"It wasn't about the wall; we've been over this, it's a metaphor-"  
"You're so dumb." Marco chuckles, cutting him off. His dad is out doing adult things, like taxes and doing bills and generally being boring, so it's just Jean, Marco, and the TV. 

Jean is huffing indignantly; blushing a violent red.  
"You're a dick, man. Yeah, I see through you. You act all sensitive, but I know what you're after." Jean says accusingly, and Marco watches, amused. He's gone all fluttery and maidenly. It kind of makes his heart go all fluttery and less maidenly, more like he's gonna have a seizure or something.  
"You just want to get into my pants! You don't care about my feelings!" Jean howls and Marco falls on the ground, laughing. This time Jean joins in, gasping out a threat.  
"I'll-I'll get hah my hah daddy-! You'll be sorry!"  
"Why are you always the girl?" Marco manages to get out, after at least a minute of sputtering silent, then picking up again.  
"I'm just secure in my masculinity." Jean says, with a mock air of superiority. He doesn't deny it.  
"At most, you're really butch. Antisocial and butch." Marco assess, unimpressed.  
"Dude you're like rainbows and unicorns. I'd rather be butch." Jean retorts, snorting. He stands up. Marco hides his grin.  
"Rainbows and unicorns, right." He's still on the ground, watching his friend. Jean stretches, and his back pops. Marco makes a face. Then he looks over and rolls his eyes, before offering Marco a hand.

Jean is good-looking, Marco realizes as they walk down the street. He is effortlessly attractive, even with a dumb red beanie and a Van Halen t-shirt that he's pretty sure is his. They have a tendency to swap clothes, just by accident, since they're similar in size, and they sleep over so much, it's convenient to have a stash of clothes at each other's houses. Even still, Marco thinks, it's kind of weird how often it seems to happen with Jean and not himself. He's only a bit taller, broader, but his clothes are a slightly loose on Jean, and Marco can see a little peak of his collar bone. It's probably been too long that he's been looking at him, so Marco focuses on the street ahead of them.

The fact that they're together so much in the first place _is_ strange, isn't it? Marco's mind insists. Jean has a key to his apartment. Jean's mom is in Marco's emergency contacts. Their families get each other Christmas presents. He can't remember a time when Jean has not been within walking distance. They've been attached at the hip since the third grade. No one has ever really come between them, no one has been more important than Jean. Not in the same way. Jean is his brother in arms, his best friend, his wingman. Jean is hot-headed and determined, pragmatic and stubborn, harsh and sharp-tongued...

But he's never been _attractive_. Sure, he was a cute kid, from the photographs they have together. And he was really awkward in middle school, with the whole braces and glasses combo. But they're in high school now, and Jean is growing into himself. Quite well, Marco thinks absently. He isn't really muscular, but he doesn't really need to be. He has a nice jaw and a drop dead gorgeous smile, he's intelligent and witty, an all around knockout. Marco isn't really into girls, isn't really into anyone. He supposes if he had to choose one, it would be more male oriented. Though even then, its not a very strong physical preference. However, Marco's known this for a very, very long time. Jean is a strange exception, especially since Marco hasn't really been struck by anything about him physically. At least, up until lately. He doesn't know what it is, but today Jean Kirstein is gorgeous. Maybe he's always been, but right here and now, it's like a punch to the gut. Marco kind of gets lost in his thoughts, and stops walking.  
"Marco. How's Mrs. Ackerman?" Jean doesn't even look at him. His posture is utterly relaxed. Jean is like a cat, Marco thinks, and no, he has to focus.  
"Huh? Oh. She just wanted me to move her couch around. Had to dust under it or something." Marco blinks and starts walking again.  
"They're really anal, huh?"  
"About cleaning, yeah."  
"I wonder if she's related to Mikasa." Jean's eyes are an amber color, liquid pools of gold. Marco meets them reluctantly, if only for a split second. Jean entertains a weak crush on her. There's no hope for it. He nurses it anyways.  
"I think she mentioned something about her niece going to high school nearby; I think she wants to hook us up."  
"Jesus Christ. How many times is that now? I think everyone's mom wants to marry you."  
"Technically she's an aunt."  
"Technicalities are for the weak."  
"You're just mad because your joke sucked." Marco baits, setting him up.  
"You suck." He retorts, and falls for it hook, line, and sinker. Marco preemptively pats himself on the back.  
"I seem to recall that being you." Marco grins broadly, and Jean sighs dramatically.  
"You're so gay, dude." They narrowly avoid swerving into awkward territory. Even when they do, Jean always just looks at him coolly and tells him not to make it weird.  
"You always say the sweetest things." Marco swoons, pitching his head backwards. He's mastered the art of playing Jean's game, denying that part of him in the process.

Marco’s mind tends to float up like he's full of helium, but Jean has the gift of yanking him back down to the ground. He gets distracted so easily, not because he’s disinterested, but because there is always too much going on in his head. Jean balances him out, makes himself a barrier, to prevent Marco from receding into himself at inconvenient times. Oftentimes Marco isn’t even aware that he’s zoning out, until reflecting back. Jean usually catches him so seamlessly, it’s impossible to tell in the moment. He’s had years of practice, after all. 

They enter the coffee shop, and Jean's ex-girlfriend Sasha is manning the cash register. This doesn't surprise Marco. It's pretty typical, actually. Jean is usually one to show up at his girlfriend's workplaces, generally just for discounts. He acquires a taste. Sasha looks at him, and sighs, rolling her eyes. It's not unusual behavior of Jean's exes. Most of the time they're a little exasperated, but they seem to tolerate him. Jean is an utter douche bag, except when he isn't. He's the rough exterior, fluffy interior type. Marco knows this firsthand. He knows how difficult it is to resent him for long. Sasha is his most recent girlfriend. It didn't end well. She is friendly towards Marco, though, so their order goes smoothly. Marco is confident that they'll settle back into their normal friendship in due time. It's how it usually plays out with Jean.

Jean enjoys the occasional fling here and there, but never very often. Not that he wouldn't like to. It's just inconvenient. Marco understands well enough, though he frequents random parties less often than Jean. But, it's not saying much. They're both a little antisocial, which is probably why they cling so unhealthily together. But even so, they both manage to socialize and date. Marco has realized by now, that if he doesn't get a girlfriend, the messing around they do will arouse suspicion from Jean. Marco would prefer to simply continue on with just Jean, but it's not an option. He **wishes** it was. Jean is sufficient enough stimulation for him.

Jean has this tender side, that he guards with his life. It usually shines when he talks about his mom or his dog. It’s sort of like redemption for his personality in general. A reward for putting up with him. Only when he and Marco are alone, though. He supposed that should make him feel special. Like he's accomplished something. In a way, it does. But Marco can't help but think he might be looking at the world through rose colored glasses. It's usually like that with Jean. He sees things that aren't there.  
Sometimes Marco will look at him, and Jean will be smiling a little, just enough that he feels squirmy and warm inside. Sometimes Marco takes that, thinks, I really want to kiss you right now, and promptly shuts down. It’s like a siren in his head, and monumentally irritating. He can imagine Jean’s face, if he said that out loud. It’s amusing, but also really painful. Kisses are only allowed when Jean says, which is arduously sparse. Marco can’t tell if it’s worth it or not, most of the time. But then Jean looks so _pretty_ when he's like that, gentle and affectionate. Sometimes he gets there when he’s sleepy, like he's drunk. Except Jean is a loud, belligerent drunk. 

Really, it's more like he's high. His eyes go half-lidded, his shoulders relax, and his mouth curves up into a sweet crescent. It's an uncomfortably subdued state for him. He’s generally harsh and callous, like he can’t bear to let anyone know how he’s feeling. Tenderness is weakness, and Jean is rarely weak in front of others. But Marco is fairly sure that he has seen most if not all sides of Jean. He would resent being called pretty, but Marco can’t help it. It’s a fragile state, subject to change immediately, if he realizes it. There’s no better description for it. Marco’s thought it enough, though perhaps he’s not fully aware of it. 

Jean gets ice coffee, and something with peaches in it. Marco gets iced tea and an unassuming looking sandwich Sasha recommends.  
"It's like three in the afternoon, Jean.” He sighs, because Jean would just eat pure sugar if Marco let him.  
“I have a watch.” Jean states, and holds up his wrist. It’s a gift from Marco’s dad. Marco has the exact same one, as does Marco’s older brother.  
“I mean y’know. You should eat something _not_ sugary, since it’s late and you haven’t eaten all day.” Marco gently suggests, definitely not mothering him.  
“Nah, pass.” Jean waves him away, and Marco grumbles about it, mostly playful.

Jean retrieves their order, and Marco clearly does not stare at his butt. Does not remember how it feels under his hands, very firm and plush. Marco is definitely not an ass man. But he is very interested in the material of their booth. Plastic. Marco likes plastic. Jean's pants are hanging a little low on his waist, and his briefs are the solid green ones Marco secretly likes. They're tight. But yes Jean, he's totally not gay. Jean slides across from him, so he can't tell Marco's popped a boner. It'll go away on it's own. He's fine. As long as he doesn't think about it, everything will be great. Don't make it weird, Marco chants to himself, and bites into his sandwich. It's good, and Marco smiles in the direction of the cash register. While Sasha is more Jean's friend than his own, they still get along. He gets along with mostly everyone, and counterbalances Jean's tendency to pick a fight. He's mellowed out over the years, but he still turns on a dime occasionally; especially if Eren is involved. They've gotten miles better about not being at each other's throats, though. 

"You okay?" Jean asks him, one eyebrow raised.  
"Huh? Yeah, why?"  
"I dunno, you're looking at me a little funny."  
"I just zoned out."  
"Am I that boring?" Jean gives him a rueful grin and his stomach flops. It doesn't mean anything, Marco, he reminds himself.  
"Always. It's a real problem. You should get that checked out."  
"Your mom doesn't think I'm boring, at least that's what she said last night."  
"That's funny, that's what your mom said, too. Well, it was more like screaming."  
"Please, like you could make anyone scream." Jean rolls his eyes, and Marco chews thoughtfully. The loudest Jean gets is a high pitched whine, on the rare occasion that he bottoms. They usually don't go that far, but experimentation must be thorough.

"I could. If I really tried." Marco tells him finally.  
"Uh-huh, sure." Jean scoffs, and Marco has a minor stroke. He can't think of anything to say. Well, not the right thing. All he can think of is pinning Jean down and making him wail. Marco is not a violent person. He's never really felt the need to be physically rough with anyone, but this is different. He wants to make Jean cry because it feels too good, like he can barely stand it. Marco can feel his cheeks heat up, because he's thinking about it.  
"Are you sure you're okay?" Jean looks particularly puzzled. He sits up a little.  
"I'm fine! Perfectly okay. Re **al** ly." His voice cracks.  
"Uhhh..." Marco sneezes.  
"Maybe I'm getting sick."  
"Oh great. If you're sick, I'm gonna get sick."  
"Probably. Wait, are there any cats around here?"  
"I hope so. I don't wanna get fuckin' sick in June, what kind of shit is that?"  
"Dumb shit." Marco supplies dutifully,  
"That's right, dumb shit."  
"The best kind of shit."  
"Right behind bullshit."  
"Maybe we're not being fair to stupid shit,"  
"Whoa, gettin' a little racy there Marky Mark. There are kids around here." Marco warms at the nickname. It's stupid, but Jean insists on it.  
"Oh, uh yeah, you're right. We're being pretty rude." He frowns, and Jean blinks.  
"Wha-"  
"We'll stick to dumb shit, for the children. Sounds good right, _John_?" Marco says, and Jean smiles brilliantly. He absolutely despises being called John, mainly because it happens so often. Marco and his mother are the only people who consistently pronounce it right. They're also the only ones he doesn't snap at for mispronunciation.  
"Yeah, you're right." Jean mutters, and studies his face. It's quiet for all of two minutes.

"Do you have a crush on Sasha?" He blurts out, and Marco's heart stops.  
"What? No!"  
"It's totally cool. She's a good person." Jean says seriously.  
"No, I mean she's an awesome person but I really don't-"  
"C'mon Marco, you don't have to lie to me, I'm over it." Jean pressures, and Marco shakes his head, feeling mildly sick.  
"Then what's with that face dude? It's sickening. Like you punched someone you really hate in the face."  
"That sounds more like you," Marco mumbles.  
"Do you even hate anyone? Can you? Whatever, don't answer that. Point is, the googly eyes are gross." Jean mutters, and sits back. Marco misses how his cheeks go pink, in a blind panic. He spots a girl behind Jean's head, and quickly says,  
"There's just a cute girl over there, okay?" He feigns sheepishness. Jean gets a coy grin, that might be a little strained, but not enough for Marco to notice. Marco presses the heel of his hand into his crotch. He's kind of impressed with how long it's lasted. It's been like three weeks since he's done anything with Jean. And he can't do anything sexual without thinking of him, as of late. And Marco cannot get off to the thought of his best friend. It's wrong in fundamental sense, and Marco refuses to stand for it. Getting off **with** him, however, is acceptable, because he can pretend that it’s not the thought of Jean. He can tell himself that he just much prefers the feeling of someone else, and that someone else just _happens_ to be Jean. Whom he just _coincidentally_ finds extremely attractive. Also, whom he is stupidly fond of. So much so, it’s kind of maddening. It’s the only way he can deal with it.  
"Alright man, all you had to do was say so." Jean keeps a slight smile on his lips while Marco finishes eating. He doesn't really feel hungry anymore, but he finishes it off regardless, because he payed for it.  
"Oh, dude, I gotta show you somethin'. It's at my house though." Jean jumps up, and Marco sighs after him. Still totally not checking out his ass. Today is a strange, strange day.  
“And it will only get weirder, huh?” Marco mutters, and jogs after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! Pardon if this first part is a little convoluted, i'm getting a feel for it as it goes!


	2. Interesting Intermediares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *maniacal laughter* i don't have to change the rating.

The route to Jean’s house is so familiar, Marco could get there in his sleep. They walk from the cafe to there, dodging through people’s backyards and convoluted pathways. Marco wheedles for information, but is marginally unsuccessful. by the time they’ve hopped the fence into Jean’s yard, he knows that it’s probably something illegal, and something Jean is positively giddy about. Both of these things do not bode well for Marco. He follows regardless, because if Jean is going to do something stupid, he’s going to be there all the way. There is an unspoken oath, if one of them is an idiot, then both of them are idiots. Though, Marco trusts Jean not to be too stupid. There are many things that Jean Kirschstein is, but reckless is not one of them. 

There is a key underneath a ceramic frog in the garden. It stares at Marco with cold, dead eyes.  
“That frog still creeps me out.”  
“It was a gift, Marco. We’re not ungrateful like you.”  
“But it’s a creepy gift,”  
“It’s useful, okay?” Jean grumbles, and unlocks the back door. Jean’s dog Peaches waddles over, stubby tail wagging. She’s a tan French bulldog, and snores like a freight train. Jean stoops over and picks her up like a baby. She makes her weird breathing noises at him, and Jean coos at her,  
“Didja miss me darling? You are the only girl for me, yes you are.” he nuzzles her and she licks his temple. Marco sidesteps him, and heads into the kitchen. It’s a little ridiculous, how different Jean is at home. It’s like all of his walls go crashing down when no one is looking, when his image is not under fire. Marco is privy to moments like this, Jean being utterly adorable, and utterly himself. He can almost feel himself falling, drowning. Like if he isn't careful, he’ll lose his heart to Jean of all people, and he’ll never get it back. Marco isn't one to fall in love, but Jean kisses his dog on the nose, and suddenly he doesn't know how he’ll survive. He probably won’t if he’s honest with himself.

Jean’s mom is not home. Marco knows, because she always leaves her badge on the kitchen counter. His mom is on the police force, and usually takes irregular shifts. They both live in the suburbs, but Ms. Kirschstein commutes to the rougher neighborhoods. Sometimes Marco feels guilty for simply existing, because she will go out of her way for him if she’s aware of him, especially since his parents divorced. She looks after him, despite the fact that she is always exhausted. Jean takes after her in a lot of ways, and he has a deep set desire to help people, hidden underneath selfishness that’s a product of youth more than anything. Marco knows that Jean quit track to help his mom out, knows that most of his paycheck goes to his mom. The problem is, he’ll never admit it, not to Marco, not to anyone. He’s foolishly proud, gets that from his mom too. 

Jean wanders off into his bedroom, making Marco wait around in the living room, mainly to watch out for his mom. Their couch is a puke green color, and is equally as old as his dad’s couch. Peaches waddles after Marco, breathing heavily. Not that she doesn't breathe heavily normally. She’s a chubby little thing, reminds Marco of a sausage with a squished in face. He sits down, and she jumps on beside him, staring at him expectantly.  
“Do you know how hot your owner is? Do you know how unfair this is? Do you?” She cocks her head. Marco sighs. He’s going crazy. Even the dog thinks so. 

Jean walks in on his best friend muttering to his dog.  
“-and then he does this thing that’s just...ugh and it’s really bad, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to **do** and I feel like such a _loser_ , y’know?”  
“Are you confiding in my dog?” Jean says sounding properly dumbfounded. Peaches is half in his lap, one eye closed, as Marco rubs her belly.  
“She’s a good listener.” he grumbles, blushing stupidly hard.  
“She is.” Jean agrees, and hops over the couch beside him.  
“Okay, what did you want to show me?” Marco prompts, setting the dog on the ground. Jean has a grocery bag with something in it, oblong and dubious.

“I didn't show you yet because I wasn't 100% sure I was gonna keep it but then I was like fuck it, so here it is.”  
“Jean, you’re such a fucking idiot.”  
“Whoa there Marco, that’s some inappropriate language,”  
“I was worried it was gonna be something like, awful.”  
“I’m wounded, Marco. I thought you would be more, I dunno, appreciative of my _bombtastic_ bong.”  
“I don’t think I've ever heard you say that before, and don’t you have one already?”  
“Yeah, but this one is shaped like a _dragon_. A fucking **_dragon_** , dude.”  
“Jean,”  
“You can’t tell me dragons aren't awesome.”  
“ _Jean_ ,”  
“ _ **Marco**_ ,”  
“Please tell me you forgot to empty that.”  
“I’m offering. C’mon. Connie and Sasha gave it to me for my birthday.”  
“Your birthday was months ago! How did it take you that long to decide?”  
“Well, on one hand, I didn't want even more evidence, but on the other hand, dragons are cool as **shit** ,”  
“Honestly, Jean.”  
“This weed is really good too, come on Mmmmaaaarcooo,”  
“I didn’t sign up for this,”  
“Maaaaaaarrrrcoooooo,”

Peaches whines at the door, and Marco feels a little guilty. They’re in the basement, where Jean’s bedroom is. It’s messy, with clothes everywhere. The fan spins lazily, swirling the dispersing smoke around. Marco stares at a Casablanca poster, and totally feels the dude. His face is pressed up against the girl’s and he looks so goddamned sad. Marco probably looks like that with Jean, at least half the time. Humphrey Bogart is the only one who gets him. Jean’s head is on his stomach, legs hanging off the bed. Marco never gets this comfortable with Jean, not while sober. It's dangerous.  
“Dude, no, what if everything really is a dream? Like, what if you’re just my imagination dude?”  
“I dunno, I think, I think you’d be my imagination.” Marco replies immediately, because of course, Jean is too good to really exist. He's too real, visceral and overwhelming. Everything smells like weed. Marco gets the last toke. He sets it down gently on the bedside table.  
“Why? Like you’re not even a person.” Jean tilts his head, like a confused puppy. His brow furrows. Marco wants to kiss it away. He's such a sap, and should really stop.  
“I’m totally a person.”  
“You’re like a rabbit in a person suit.”  
“I hate carrots, dude.”  
“No like, you’re like all cute and shit and you probably have fleas or some shit but no one cares because you’re so fucking cute.” Jean looks up at him with bloodshot eyes, expression achingly fond.  
“I don’t have fleas. I promise.”  
“You’re like...Jesus. but with freckles. So many freckles. Have you seen your fucking freckles, man.” Jean says, and just like that, Marco’s shirt is being tugged up. Jean lays between his legs and carefully counts them.  
“There are like a hundred on your stomach. Like little stars. Fuck man, freckles are so hot.” Jean rubs a hand over him, wonderingly. His stomach is littered with them, especially near his hips. His is skin is practically vibrating as Jean keeps on touching him.  
“Guh,” Marco replies, because his dick is kind of hard, and there’s no way Jean doesn't feel it.  
“Marco, Marco pay attention you have a fucking _universe_ right here, you see this shit?”  
“I see it every day, Jean.”  
“I wanna look at you all the time, because your fucking, fucking freckles, Marco.”  
“Can you please not...say that?”  
“But Marco, look,” Jean is emphatic as he traces a pattern, that disappears right under the waistband of his jeans. Marco is so hard, he might pass out.  
“Marco, you need some help there?” It’s like a growl, and wow, okay.  
"Don't," Marco tells him, though he doesn't know why. His brain is screaming yes, but he can't get it to come out right.  
"Alright." Jean doesn't seem to mind, and rests his head on Marco's stomach again. Marco's dick twitches painfully, caught between Jean's warmth, and the constraints of his pants. 

"I think I like guys." He says, into the silence.  
"I know you like guys." Jean mutters, a rush of warmth against his skin.  
"Jean I'm gay." Marco blurts out, and Jean rests his chin on his hands.  
"Alright, Jesus. It's ok." Jean says, almost serenely, and nuzzles his lower abdomen. Marco's cock kind of jumps. He's unconsciously rutting up against Jean's sternum. It feels good. A sticky, gooey kind of good. His brain is fuzzy like that.  
"Why can't you be a girl, Marco?"  
"Because I don't wanna be."  
"Are you sure you aren't?"  
"Yeah."  
"I wish you were a girl."  
"Why?"  
"'Cause then I could date you."  
"You can date me now."  
"But I don't like guys." His hands wander up and down Marco's sides. The touches are so gentle, and he marvels at them. Jean is never this gentle with him. It's novel, and Marco wants to savor it.  
"Are you hard right now, Jean?" Marco whispers, and he looks startled to be addressed. Like he's about to jump out of his skin.  
"Yeah." Jean states simply,  
"Who're you thinking of?"  
"You."  
"Are you hard because of me?"  
"Mmhmm." Jean breathes, and thumbs the v line of his stomach.  
"Maybe you just like me?" Marco tries, hesitant.  
"I'm so high, man." Jean doesn't respond, and lazily traces patterns with his tongue on Marco's skin.

Marco's brain freezes. He's so baked. When did his mouth get so dry?  
"I gotta get somethin' to drink, Jean." Marco rasps, and Jean continues to paw at him.  
"Jean," he pants, and Jean bites his hip.  
"I like when you say my name," he says, hot against him.  
"Jean, please..."  
"Are you sure you don't want anything? I'll take good care of you." Jean's eyes are half-lidded and dark, mouth curved into a smirk.  
"Jean, I can't..." he's panting, he needs water, he needs to calm down. But his legs are sort of jelly now, and his fingers are in Jean's hair.  
Jean's moving south quickly, tracing patterns with his tongue again. He mouths Marco through the fabric of his jeans, and it's terribly good. His mouth goes slack, and he runs his fingers through blonde hair. 

Everything stops when they hear footsteps above.  
"Holy fuck. That's my mom. That's totally my mom. Fuck. Fuck." Jean is frozen, eyes wide with surprise.  
"Wha-?" Marco is still hazy, and his crotch throbs dully.  
"Marco this is **not** a drill. I repeat; **this not a drill**." Jean whisper screams. He bolts up, grabs the bong, and exits the room. Marco pulls down his shirt, and wobbles around the room with a can of Febreze. He thinks of his grandma looking at him disapprovingly, and his dad in a bathing suit, and his sister in the morning. He hides the baggie of weed in a shoe box under Jean's bed. Jean bolts back, shoves the bong under there, and opens the small window in his room. He's got a water bottle in his hands. He shoves it into Marco's chest, not looking at him. He drinks gratefully, and hands it back, taking steadying breaths.  
"Turn the TV on." Jean mutters, and downs the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this at 3AM help me.


	3. Uneasy Endings

They end up playing Mario Kart, Jean on the bed, Marco on the ground. The Wii is the only console Jean has, and the main reason why he crashes at Marco's dad's house the most: the coveted Xbox is there. They are pathetic, as most teenaged boys are. It's better than Jean's mom walking in on them, though. Getting high mid afternoon was a little stupid, in retrospect. Then again, they're a little stupid themselves. Marco used a can's worth of Febreze, since they had to shut the window. Jean can't stand bugs, not in his room. The grassy, skunk odor still clings to them, and neither of them are all the way sober.  
"What even is Yoshi?" Marco grumbles, dodging a blue shell. Or trying to. Sort of like Jean with Mikasa; he knows it's fruitless, and does it anyways. No response. Jean never talks when he's focused. Every video game with Jean is like the end of the world. Especially Mario Kart. Really, because it's the only game he's good at. He always chooses Yoshi, for some reason, and has won against all of their shared friends except Bert, (Mikasa and Annie refuse to play simply on principle). Marco's never seen Bert sweat so much, it's kind of impressive. Jean usually doesn't glower like that, either.  
"Yoshi is my god." Jean sighs with satisfaction as he finishes first on Rainbow Road. They've played at least five games. Marco always lets him win; Jean always thinks he's better at video games. It makes him smug. Marco is always okay with it.  
"How are you kids doing?" Jean's mom pokes her head in the room. The smell of weed is very, very faint. Ms. Kirschstein would usually pick up on it, if she hadn't worked a 6 hour shift. She has a tired smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Marco peeks at her, but he's weighed down with guilt.  
"Great ma'am." He answers, studiously picking at the carpet under him. Jean says nothing, mainly because if he opens his mouth, something stupid will come out.  
"Are you staying over, Marco?"  
"If that's alright," he replies, hopefulness seeping into his voice. It's a question for both Jean and his mom. He turns his head toward her fully, and finds she's giving him that fond look. The one that makes his heart feel full. But now he's paranoid that his eyes are telling her everything. He's never been good at avoiding the truth. 

He's fucked her son. In the ass. Dick into ass. Her son was like .5 seconds away from sucking dick too. Like half an hour ago. Until she came home. It's mostly because he's high. They were smoking weed. Weed. It's illegal. She's a cop. She's a goddamned cop and her kid is a stoner and she have no idea. How can she not tell? How. They're so terrible at hiding things. She probably knows he's had sex with her kid, by now. Sexual intercourse. Fuck. That's probably ending now, isn't it? Marco can't stop thinking, his internal monologue flowing like water. It's over now, the jig is up. Player 2 has disconnected. Marco needs to stop thinking. Looking away, he blinks the thoughts away, like he's trying to stop tears. Even knowing those stupid eye drops Jean has works, he can't stop the flood of doubt. He's checked in the mirror like ten times. Apparently Connie has set Jean up for all the basics of marijuana consumption, including cover up. He's a mostly harmless stoner, and one of Jean's closer friends. Incredibly clever about avoiding capture, that one. He's also the one Sasha should've been dating since the beginning. Marco doesn't tell Jean that, though.

"Of course it is. Well I'll leave you to it." She turns away, leaving the door ajar. They listen to her walk up the stairs, ready for her to come back down. They both relax once she's gone. Peaches the dog enters, to be promptly scooped up by Jean.  
"I'm so sowwy I ignowed you." Jean slurs. He's incoherent when he's high. Marco can't for the life of him forget the sound of his voice, low and aroused, despite this. Telling him how he doesn't like guys. Of course he doesn't. Jean has been girl-centric since the fifth grade. Marco would be stupid to hope otherwise. It's always just messing around for Jean. He knows what it means for him. Jean will get a real, steady girlfriend, and Marco will simply be his best friend. There will be no tension to resolve, no experimentation to be needed. He'll get his kicks in now, memorize the feeling of Jean, who is in those moments, completely Marco's. No one can take that Jean away from him. He can be in love with that Jean, once it's all said and done. It's incredibly, incredibly bittersweet. Or at least it was. That's what Marco's thought for years, since they began their...thing.  
"Hey Marco..."  
"Yeah?" Marco looks at him, reflexively.  
"Did you mean it?" Jean is staring down into his lap, as if his hands are utterly fascinating.  
"Yeah." Marco understands immediately. He looks away. This is not a conversation he wants to have.  
"You know-" Jean begins, but Marco knows this too. They can't go back. Being stuck in the present means that the ignorance of the past has vanished. Knowledge is not always freedom, not here. It's imprisonment, Marco is being caged in with his own words. Thoughtless, thrown around where they didn't belong. He's always been so careful, he doesn't know how this is happening.  
"I know." He still doesn't want to make him say it, so he cuts him off.  
"Why didn't you tell me?" It's not really accusing, like Marco expected. It feels soft, gentle wondering. It's much more like his mother than Marco is used to. He supposes it's supposed to be comforting.  
"I was afraid." He doesn't say of what. Jean doesn't asked. Ruining it, he supposes. Losing at Jean's game of denial, of avoidance. This is what losing really is, not throwing games of Mario Kart. It's losing that deep rooted bond. They stop being brothers, with two simple words, the admittance of defeat.  
"When did you want to do it?"  
"I don't...I don't know."  
"Were you just not going to tell me?" His voice is pained, though still not on the offensive. Jean isn't going to get angry, not now.  
"I-I don't know. I didn't want to do it now. Not while..." he trails off. Marco hugs his knees to his chest. Jean turns the Wii off.  
"This doesn't change anything, Marco. You're still my best friend. Can't erase that." Jean tells him, firmly. Marco can't help but feel relieved, at least a little. Even though he expected it, it's reassuring to hear. Of all the possibilities, Marco barely considered Jean outright rejecting him as a friend. It's relieving, but empty. Estrangement has a funny way of cutting through words.  
"It's just...weird, y'know? I don't..." Jean shifts, clearly uncomfortable. And there it is, their problem.  
"I'm sorry. It-it wasn't fair to you, I was being selfish, y'know? I...I didn't, y'know, wanna stop." He manages to get out, through the lump in his throat, eyes aching. He won't cry, though. He knows he won't.  
"I get it." Jean replies simply, petting Peaches, fingers trembling.  
"You don't..." _You don't like me, do you?_ Marco suspected this would come up, too.  
"I'm so sorry." He feels hollowed out. Like he's an old tree, rotting from the inside. Jean's eyes on his back are intense. Discomfort oozes from him. Wow, he really wants to vomit. He wants to simply disappear.  
"Marco..." Jean begins, making Marco squeeze into himself even more.  
"Hey, Marco, look at me." His best friend coaxes, soothing. Marco's shoulders are shaking. He can't face what he's done. Can't face the rules he's broken.  
"Marco." It's not a question anymore. Reluctantly, he looks up at Jean. 

This might be worse. He can almost feel the sympathy radiating off of him. It's so unlike Jean, to look so unsure. He's sitting India style, hands fidgeting. Marco is reminded of a little kid. He looks up through his lashes. Marco's pulse spikes; he's so unexpectedly shy, vulnerable. It sort of scares him, honstly. Jean has always been the leader of the two of them, confident and cocky. Marco's never seen so many mixed feelings on his face, all on display. Like he can't remember his false bravado. Marco's going to be sick.  
"If you need to be alone, just ask. I can take you home. But I'm not going to kick you out. I don't hate you. I-"  
"You don't have to do anything. It's alright. I'll just leave in the morning." Marco tells him, mouth twisting. It's never been this awkward. Not even when Jean came from Marco touching his dick for something like ten seconds. They just laughed it off. It wasn't difficult, not like this.  
"Why does this feel like a break up?" Jean says, morose.  
"Because you made it sound like one." Marco cracks a grin. It doesn't feel right.  
"I didn't mean to."  
"I know."  
Silence hangs between them, speculative and agonizing. Jean stands up, stretches so his back pops. Marco, this time, doesn't even react. It feels like eons ago, that light, playful mood. He unceremoniously shoves his pants down, movements jerky. It's a sign of trust, an effort to demonstrate that this much at least, has not changed. Marco likes boys, likes Jean, but he'll still change in front of him. The prior stares doggedly at the wall.  
"You can still, uh-" Jean is blushing, gesturing at the bed.  
"No, it's okay, the floor is fine."  
"Okay, wait, I'll get like a blanket or something."  
"It's cool, just gimme a pillow,"  
"Real quick. I'll be back in a second." Jean promises. He leaves, and it's like a sigh of relief.

"We are so utterly and completely broken." Marco murmurs. Peaches snores.  
Jean returns with a couple of blankets, and a sheepish admission that he couldn't find the linen closet. Marco has already shucked his pants off, folded neatly beside him. His best friend simply dumps them on him. He still chuckles at it. This habit, small as it is, remains unbroken. Beaten, but not dead. His laugh comes out strained, and Jean's face is etched with a permanent apology. If there is anything Marco hates more than being shoved out of the closet by his own stupidity, it's that gentle look of _pity_ Jean won't stop shooting him. Marco balls his fists when Jean climbs into his bed. He's never wanted to hit someone so much in his life. Whether it's himself or Jean, he doesn't know.  
Jean's bedroom is quiet, except for Peaches' thunderous snoring. Both of them are accustomed to it, however, so Marco is kept up by his thoughts. Marco doesn't know how he knows, but he **knows** Jean is asleep. Maybe it's the change in breathing, or something. Perhaps this is good; means he's not so uneasy he can't sleep. Unlike Marco, whose wrist watch reads 1:30.  
"We missed all of the important ones." Marco murmurs, and decides that 1:30 is also the time to make a wish. He can't make his mind up as to what he wants more when he's awake, though, so he misses out again. Mainly, he wishes they'd never gone to Jean's house. But then, he also wishes he could take it back. He wasn't ready. Not prepared to come out to anyone, much less Jean. Or even his parents. He's known since he was 13, and it's not out of shame, that he's kept it to himself. It's just hard. It's hard and not fair; like life. Marco doesn't deserve it, but it happened to him, anyways. 

Though, life has a funny way of working things out, doesn't it, Jean?

**Author's Note:**

> Haha. Ending this here to save face for the next installment. I'm sorry this exists hahahah. Ha.


End file.
